Time-treading Twins
by RHGroeninga
Summary: Fred died. Only, just an instant earlier, someone dragged him back in time. He finds himself in the year 1971, one year younger than the Marauders, and without his twin. What is going on? Will he be able to fit in? Can he change the future? And, above all, where the heck is George?
1. Lost

**IMPORTANT _WORK IN PROGRESS_:**

**I'm currently rewriting this story chapter by chapter, not only improving my style, but also changing some points in the story. This means that:**

**1\. Followers will need to reread the story not to get confused. Please review if you think it's an improvement or not!**

**2\. New readers will find some errors in continuity. I'm aware of most of these errors, but please do inform me, maybe you'll see something I overlooked!**

**Now, enjoy the story :)**

* * *

"Hello, Minister!" bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.

"You actually are joking, Perce… I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

The air exploded. An unfathomable force wacked Fred forward, but before he could even begin his fall a heavy piece off castle stone crushed his spine, black blobs hindered his sight, debris cut into his flesh and his ears filled with a sharp tone as his grin faded – then all stone and rubble flew aside, as arms yanked him up and held him closely.

Fred struggled but couldn't escape their strong grip. Panic stroke him; why couldn't he feel pain, was he dead? What was happening to him!? He caught glimpses of the hall he was standing in, but his vision was distorted by the dark matter swirling around him in incredible speed, too quick to get a real understanding of his surroundings. Actually, everything outside the little bubble around him and his assaulter was incomprehensible and out of his reach.

Fred wrestled with all his might to see the person's face, but in all his confusion couldn't get the upper hand. Only when he was roughly hauled to the side he managed to break loose, turning around just as the attacker was thrown out of the whirlwind. Fred staggered backwards, noticed the chaos slightly slowing down before he also crossed its power field and was launched through the hallway, skidding over the carpet until he was stopped by a grey, unimpaired wall.

He lay on his back, taking a few deep gasps, before a dreadful wave of nausea overcame him. He had to do his utter best to prevent throwing up in that right instant; as it wouldn't be the place nor the moment to do so. He attempted scrambling upright, ending up on all fours, his vision blackening once again. Someone had seen him, feet walking, people talking, arguing.

That moment, he couldn't hold back any longer and vomited violently on the richly decorated carpet. He was barely aware of the disgusted cries in front of him, too preoccupied with not fainting in his own puke.

"Excuse me!? No way, Moony, no way I'm going to touch him."

"Sorry, I'm with Padfoot on this one."

A frustrated grunt resounded through the hall. "Peter, come with me."

The approaching footsteps mixed with the pounding in his ears; two people pulled him up, shoulders supporting his armpits. He tried to stand but failed miserably, so only let out a weak groan of protest when they started to drag him away.

The sound of his own voice shocked him into silence. It simply didn't sound like him at all...

* * *

Fred didn't know when he'd blacked out, but he woke up in one of the soft, familiar beds of the Hospital Wing. He was confused for a moment, but it dawned on him he was probably injured. Or just ill. Or probably injured, as he had been so often, pranking, playing Quidditch or just goofing around. Or all of the above.

The flowery smell of the place made him smile instinctively; whatever it was, if he was with Madame Pomfrey, everything would soon be alright.

He jolted up, wide awake. No, everything was not alright. Voldemort's troops had invaded Hogwarts. Everyone's lives were at stake. He had been fighting with Percy, the world exploded…

He'd been hit, obviously. He'd been certain he'd die, but clearly someone had saved him in time.

Another alarming thought sprang in mind. Why was he here? The wounded were tended in the Great Hall, not the Hospital Wing. This place was supposed to be in ruins. And by any right it wasn't supposed to be this light, this peaceful...

Where was George?

"I see you've healed well, young man."

The sight of the old, bearded headmaster startled him tongue-tied. "You should thank the Messrs Lupin, Black, Potter and Pettigrew for finding you." Dumbledore spoke fondly, "They brought you here and warned me, you could've had less luck with who'd be the first person to pass by."

The words scarcely penetrated his mind. There he was, Dumbledore, standing a mere meter from his bed, in all his aged wisdom and sparkling glory. His bright blue eyes twinkled, his semi-circular glasses rested on his considerable nose. All joy and spirit of life, reminiscent of themselves, curious and attentive. He and George had always loved the Head Master, and how stricken they had been by his death. So how was Dumbledore here?

Nothing changed, but suddenly Dumbledore's gaze became unbarable and Fred felt the urge to cast his eyes down, studying the sheets out of the corner of his eyes. He shuddered. He had the oddest sensation of being watched through a looking glass, being scrutinized like a phenomena one couldn't quite figure out.

One thing he could count on: something was wrong. Something was critically wrong. Dumbledore was dead. Died a year ago, by Snape's hand, the bloody bat. Wasn't that something Dumbledore himself used to say, that no spell could reawaken the dead? That death was the end point, no turning back, terminal station, a no-go area even he and George wouldn't dare to tread?

And if Dumbledore somehow had escaped death, why wasn't he helping them in the battle? Aiding Ron, Harry and Hermione on the secret mission he'd sent them on? They could use his help, no doubt there. But the battle was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. What had happened? What was happening? Where was he?

Where was George?

"Professor Dumbledore?" he asked wearily, wondering if any of this was real, or if he was still unconcious and dreaming everything up. He was again startled by the sound of his voice, but further ignored it as he needed to ask something. "Why are you here? Is this a dream?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly. "To my knowledge, all of this is real. What do you think?"

Fred stared at the bed cover with wide eyes, thinking hard. He felt the texture of the linnen at his fingertips. He was aware of every breath he took. It didn't feel like a dream, at least, not like any dream he'd ever had. Maybe this was what Harry experienced when he had one of those visions, or like that Legimency thing. But none of that explained how Dumbledore could suddenly appear at his bed. None of it made sense.

"If all this is real, then how are you here? Aren't you supposed to... you know..." Was it rude to tell the dead they were dead? Well, Dumbledore would surely survive it, metaphorically speaking, "...be dead?"

Someone snorted loudly across the room. "Of course he isn't dead! The whole world would be gossiping about it if Albus Dumbledore died! ... No offense, Headmaster."

"None taken."

Fred stared at the boy who had spoken, who looked like an exact replica of Harry, minus a few years. He was sitting on the bed opposite of his, beside another dark hairded boy around the same age. Two other boys sat in front of them, one of them small and slightly pudgy and one of them not in entirely good health. All of them seemed to be friends, and all of them seemed eerily familiar.

"Who are you?" the pudgy boy asked out of the blue. Apparently this was something that occured regularly, as the dark haired boy behind him laughed merrily and pushed him playfully in the back, while the other two just sighed and rolled their eyes.

Fred didn't feel the need to answer that question. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around Dumbledore's being there, and his head was too fuzzy to give his usual cheeky reply. This annoyed him - he almost never lost his wits, but when he did, the infamous Weasley temper tended to surface instead, and then only George could calm him down. Where was the git when he needed him?

"I could ask you the same, dimwit, I don't remember ever seeing you before." he retorted, before turning back to the Headmaster, "With all due respect, Headmaster, I just don't understand, how are you still alive? What am I doing in the Hospital Wing, anyway? Wasn't it destroyed? What happened? What day is it? Where's George?"

Dumbledore calmly began answering all his questions. "You're in the Hospital Wing because you fell unconsious, boy. You were found in a seventh floor corridor by these four gentlemen. I can't tell you what happened to you, but I can inform you it's the fifth of February 1971, and as for your other questions... I don't know who George is - but I'd love to meet him one day - the last time the Hospital Wing has been destroyed was in 1884 when a Welsh Red Dragon crashed into it, and as to why I'm still alive at age 90, I can't tell you for sure, but I like to believe it's because of my joy for life."

It took his complaining brain a moment to process this information, but then the last moments before everything went black rushed back to him. Almost dying, someone grabbing him, the swirling black - shaking his assaulter off and being thrown out. He looked at the foursome opposite him with a bit more interest. "You were the ones that found me there. You brought me here."

The boy with the long, dark hair wrinkled his nose distastefully. "Yeah, after you puked all over the floor. I think a thanks is in it's place."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." he repeated dumbly.

"No thanks. The name is Sirius by the way, Sirius Black, and these are my friends James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew." Fred tried to hide his anstonishment as Sirius indicated his friends one by one, but wasn't sure how well he succeeded. Sirius. A young Sirius Black. Alive. And Harry's dad, alive as well and much younger than Harry currently was. Remus Lupin, who had been fighting at Hogwarts and Peter Pettigrew... He repressed a shudder. That dirty rat...

Suddenly another part of Dumbledore's answer flashed through his mind. _The fifth of February 1971_. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Harry's dad... Yes, Dumbledore definitely said the fifth of February 1971. Which meant, if that was true...

Heck, it was entirely possible Harry's parents were at school now. And all those people, alive, suddenly younger...

"But now we've introduced ourselves, I think you should answer Peter's question. What is your name?"

It had all become blatantly clear to Fred. He'd, somehow, travelled back in time.

He then noticed Sirius was looking expectantly at him, as were his friends, and Dumbledore. They'd answered his questions, now he should answer theirs. Merlin's knickers, where to start?

"My name..." 1971, George and he weren't even born yet! "My name is..." Wasn't it a rule of time-travel to never reveal your identity? "...Fred Weasley." Oh, bugger. His family was large enough for them to still don't know who he was. "My parents never went to Hogwarts, and home schooled us in magic and such, but you see..." the First Wizarding War must be brewing outside... he could use that as an excuse, "some men came to our home, and asked something of our parents, they wouldn't tell us what. But they were afraid for our safety, and preformed some spell to send us off to Hogwarts, and well... here I am." He shrugged.

"I see." Dumbledore said gravely, as he sat back down. "If I may ask, were there more of you sent to Hogwarts?"

Fred swallowed an unexpected lump. More of him. He'd been talking in plural, and hadn't even noticed it. "Me and George." he answered, remembering he already had mentioned George, "Isn't he here?" Of course he wasn't there. He'd just time-traveled, and George was still... home. If home still existed somewhere. Bloody hell, what a mess.

Dumbledore shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but you are the only stranger who arrived at Hogwarts today."

Fred nodded, once again casting his eyes down. "Well, then I guess he'll arrive later." he mumbled, the irony once not able to lighten things up.

Dumbledore frowned. "Is everything quite alright, Mr. Weasley?"

Under the sheets, Fred clenched a fist. "I'm fine." he lied, having decided to give away as little as possible. Just one fact to many could turn events upside down, and the future would be destroyed, different. He cast a glance at the four boys on the opposite bed. Sirius, James, Peter Pettigrew... No, he couldn't tell the truth. If they only suspected the tragedy that was to come, they would change their plans that Halloween night and Voldemort would never try to kill Harry, only destroying himself. If they knew he came from the future, Voldemort might win the war even before him and George went to Hogwarts.

Harry's parents were going to die and it would be his fault...

"Well, if you're feeling well enough, I suggest Mr. Potter and his friends will leave so I can introduce you to Minerva, who, in turn, will introduce you to the other second year Gryffindors. If everything runs smoothly, you can start the curriculum tomorrow. So, Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Black, if you'll excuse us..."

As the others were already leaving, James opened his mouth in protest, only hesistant because it was the Headmaster he was about to talk back to. "Wait, he gets to be in Gryffindor just like that? Doesn't he need to get sorted?"

Dumbledore sent Fred a enigmatic smile, though somehow Fred felt it didn't quite reach his twinkling eyes. "In the past three hunderd years, there hasn't been one Weasley who wasn't male, wasn't red-headed, or wasn't sorted in Gryffindor. I have reasons to believe he would fit right in there."

Feeling the tone of dismissal in the Headmaster's voice, James followed his friends through the double wooden doors. Once they were alone, Dumbledore turned to Fred, "I would like to ask you a few more things in private before you join the others."

Fred attempted not to show his nervousness at the upcoming eye-to-eye-talk. "What is it, Headmaster?"

"What you just told us, wasn't the truth, now was it?"

Fred was shocked. Okay, he hadn't expected it to be easy to fool the Headmaster, but he was a pretty decent liar and his story was plausible, if out of the ordinary. How was he going to talk himself out of this one?

"I understand you have a need for secrecy, but I do need to know why you decided to lie to me. You see, I trust you, and I don't think you mean the school any harm, but as its safety is primarily my responsibility, I must be sure you are not an enemy in disguise."

"How did you know I lied?" Fred asked dumb-foundedly.

"I have methods to detect lying, and no one can enter Hogwarts through thin air, be it by Apparition, by Portkey, or by some obscure spell your parents could preform. It is just not possible. So my only conclusion can be you already were in Hogwarts before you came here." Dumbledore scrutinized Fred over his half-moon glasses, "You haven't travelled through space, so you must've travelled through time. From the nearby future, I guess, as you seem to have known me and I died not too long before you left. Am I correct?"

"Head on." Fred admitted.

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking more his age than he ever had. "I hope you can explain me how this came to happen?"

Fred swallowed nervously. Time-travelling defied laws of the Misitry and magic, he and George knew that very well. They had once researched the topic for one of their items - even the use of registrated Time-Turners had hunderds of rules. Besides majorly messing up time and even his own birth, their was the legal issue: he could easily end up in Azkaban for this. And then there was the fact the spells used probably were very dark, nearing ink black. If Dumbledore ever thought he had spirited himself twenty-seven years in the past, he would be hunted down as the dark wizard he would've been, in this time frame, he would be considered even more of a threat than Voldemort. He only hoped Dumbledore would believe his story.

"I... was fighting, I can't tell you against who, as that might mess up the future, and I thought I was about to die. It went very fast, actually, I was about to die and then I wasn't, someone had grabbed me and hold onto me, I couldn't see who it was, and we were in this black kind of whirlwind. Maybe the person who'd grabbed me had cast the spell. I shook him off when he tried to pull me with him through the whirl, and a few moments later I fell out myself. I was launched through the corridor, felt really bad, and fainted shortly after."

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "The Departement of Mysteries recently developed a device that can send a person a few hours back in time, experiments with any larger lapses thus far resulted in death for the traveller, and disturbances over the whole world. I don't know how you managed to get sent back longer than that with only a little sickness, but my most urgent advice is absolute cautioness. One ripple can destroy history as you know it. Which is why I'm glad you already seemed to be aware of that, Mr. Weasley, I am glad you lied to us and I won't pry into your secrets."

Fred exhaled in relieve at those last words. The last thing he needed now was a curious Dumbledore unfolding the future.

"But I must warn you, apart from highly dangerous, using experimental means of time-travel also is highly illegal. I trust you understand little of what happened to you, and I would hate to see a twelve-year-old in Azkaban, so I'll give you my protection, however, your teachers and fellow students might not be as tolerant, and the Ministry certainly is not. I want to ask you, would you not speak a word to anyone about this?"

"Not a word, Headmaster." Fred assured him. He already knew about the risks.

"Good. Then I would like to see you next Saturday in my office again. I want to help you with getting back to the future as soon as possible." Dumbledore smiled at him. "Can I count on your cooperation?"

"Of course, Headmaster." Fred replied, immensely grateful he wouldn't be alone in this. He vowed to himself to put his utmost best in getting back to the future again, before... before that future was destroyed, and his family was lost to him forever.


	2. Meeting the Marauders

Meeting McGonagall went smoothly (she was the only other person Dumbledore had informed of Fred's time-travelling predicament), as did introductions with the other second year Gryffindors, of whom he – thanks Merlin's socks and whisker-curler – recognized none by face or name.

Well, no one but one…

A slightly tanned boy with playful dark curls, dark brown, lively eyes and a cordial, Lee-like smile greedily took Fred's extended hand to throw it enthusiastically up and down. "Lazzaro Zabini, welcome to Gryffindor."

Fred frowned in puzzlement. Wasn't there a Zabini in Slytherin in his old time? Fred had understood Zabini associated with Malfoy and the likes, which didn't mean he had necessarily become a Death Eater, but still, he was a pure-blood supporter who looked down on Muggle-borns and blood-traitors. How could this cheerful young boy ever be related to such a person?

Zabini mistook his pondering for bewilderment however, and recalling Fred's Hogwarts-depraved background story, he immediately plunged into an vast explanation of the many joys of being a Gryffindor: "I know what you're thinking, I had the same at first: what are these houses? It's only the place you sleep, nothing more – but I've been here now more than a year, and I can tell you, it really does matter which house you're in. I mean, what they actually do, is that they put you with people who like to do the same kind of things as you like to do, like Gryffindor is the house that likes fun, but we can be a bit too rude and intimidating now and then for shy people, so that's what's Hufflepuff's for, there they put all the shy and nice people so they boast each other's confidence, and then you have Ravenclaw, if a Gryffindor would be in Ravenclaw they would probably be complaining that he's disrupting their studies, they like to study, you see, and it's really a good thing they've put the Slytherins together, only Slytherins dare to sleep with Slytherins, and with reason…"

"As I've heard. With great reason." Fred interrupted.

Lazzaro beamed. "With magnificently great reason, imagine the causalities sleeping with Slytherins could cause."

Fred shuddered. "I'd rather not."

Lazzaro nodded, then thought about what they had said, and paled visibly. Fred burst out laughing. After a moment Lazzaro began chuckling too, and started off a whole story about himself, his family, his friends, why you shouldn't mix horseradish with grinded Erkling eyes, and life in general.

No, future families aside, Fred liked this boys Italian-accented rambling. Lazzaro had that something that reminded him of George, but even more of Lee, that something that made him seem invincible to pain or serious stuff. He seemed to be able to goof around like this all day, joking, laughing, grinning, and so he provided in what Fred now craved for the most: a truly careless companion that could take his mind off of things and bring a smile to his face. Then and there, Fred decided that this Lazzaro Zabini would soon be one of his best friends.

* * *

That night he woke up with a start. There'd been an explosion. He'd been buried under tons of debris, and when he finally had crawled out, night had fallen and the whole castle was abandoned. He was alone.

He searched the place for his friends, his family, anyone whom he could spend the night with, where had they gone? Had the battle finished, and had they left without him? Did everyone think he was dead? Was he dead? Suddenly, he saw someone, one person, sitting near the fire of the Common Room, but it was too dim to see who it was.

"Who's there?" Fred had called, relieved for the comfort of another human being, but at the same time suspicious: what was he doing, here, in the dark?

The man, or was it a boy, responded casually, as he would have on any other day…

"Fred."

That single word turned the scene from comforting to sinister, making Fred want nothing but to leave this place, but who could he turn to?

"George, is it you?" he asked, hope against hope, but the annoyed voice was unmistakably his. "Honestly, Fred. If anyone should be able to tell us apart, it should be you. I'm disappointed."

He stepped away from the copy of himself, but just then the evil Fred grabbed his wrist. Still not able to see his face, he tried to pull himself free and for a moment Fred wrestled with himself. He found his wand, blasted his malicious duplicate against the wall which collapsed upon him, killing him, crushing him like he'd been crushed, leaving George all alone – wait…

He was all alone, and he'd just killed Fred!

That was the point he'd woken up, soaked in sweat, feeling a horrible, irrational guilt washing over him, until he shook the nightmare away. What the heck? He wasn't George, and he certainly hadn't killed himself. It was pointless, beyond absurd to think he'd actually believed that in his dream. The whole dream had been beyond absurd, and terribly unsettling.

He glanced over to the bed next to him, where normally his twin would lay, but which now was occupied by a boy named Norman Evershire. The abandoned feeling of his dream remained.

He let his head fall back in his pillow. Were they searching for him, in the future? Or had that all ceased to exist, never had been there in the first place? Were Arthur and Molly even married? It was years before they would be born.

Nineteen-seventy-one, the fifth of February, now the sixth of February, was it? He took a look at the clock on his night desk. Yes, the sixth of February. A quarter to six. Soon everyone would wake up and get dressed for breakfast.

It was weird, being a second year again. The lessons would be boring, he reckoned – maybe he could help Lazzaro a bit. The corners of his lips pulled up in a half-smile. Fred Weasley helping someone with their schoolwork, who would've imagined.

* * *

A little later he was trudging down the stairs to breakfast, Lazzaro and a friend of his named Thomas Cornfoot at his side. When they passed a group of Slytherins at the entrance of the Great Hall, Fred tried his very best not to look at them, yet couldn't avoid recognizing some of the Death Eaters they'd been fighting against in the war. However, he clenched his teeth, he clenched his fists, and followed Lazzaro to the Gryffindor table, since as long as he didn't know what was going on, cautiousness was advised.

Breakfast was relatively peaceful, he wasn't asked questions he couldn't think of an answer on and Thomas and Lazzaro introduced him to some of the faces and the quirks of the school, of which some he already was familiar with, and some not. Only when he had just finished his first helping, the Great Hall was awakened by a great ruckus near the hallway…

"That's Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail." Lazzaro explained with a half-smile, "They're the Marauders."

The Marauders? Fred almost couldn't believe his ears. The Marauders were here, their role-models since their very first year! The legendary pranksters whose legacy they'd strived to continue! Their very inspiration for their shop! And they lived in this time! How he wished George were, so they could meet their idols together...

He soon noticed most of the yelling came from the Death Eater group, pink smoke rising up from their midst. Furious glares were send at a group of four Gryffindors - no! The Marauders were Gryffindors! Now he owed George money! - racing down the aisles giggling and chuckling on their way...

They were Remus, Sirius, James and Pettigrew.

"They are a year older than us, and the main reason why there is always something going on in Gryffindor house – they love pranking. Which is also the reason you shouldn't cross them though, they won't refrain from hexing you. But don't worry, as long as you aren't a Slytherin and aren't an arse, you'll be fine."

He saw now the victim of their prank: a small, greasy haired boy was covered in bright pink goo, that seemed to stick onto his clothes and on his face, blocking his view. Then Fred suddenly recognized it as one of the discarded products of Zonko's, already out of sale before he was even allowed to visit the shop – Bursting Bubble Gum: Blowing up before it's even eaten.

One of the Death Eaters he only recognized from photos called after the four, pulling out his wand. Sirius turned swiftly and did the same, before hastily ducking away from a bright purple flash of light. Scrambling up again, his wand in his hand and his friends at his back, he was interrupted by the loud voice of a certain Minerva McGonagall: "NO DUELING IN THE CORRIDORS!"

Fred snorted as his mind flashed back to the terrible battle – that he had partaken in – in the school. No duelling in the corridors. The irony.

The Marauders turned around sheepishly, grinning at the tall woman looming menacingly over the quartet. "My office. At seven. All four of you. Professor Slughorn will deal with the Slytherins." She glared over her glasses at Remus. "I'm disappointed in you, Mr Lupin."

"Their real names are Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black." Thomas clarified needlessly. However, he could impossibly know Fred new exactly who – and what – they were.

McGonagall left for the teacher's table and the foursome walked over to an empty space a little down the Gryffindor table. When they eagerly started on their breakfast, Fred suddenly caught James' eye.

He really did look like Harry.

James nudged Sirius and gestured over the table. Sirius looked up too, as did Peter and Remus. Fred was staring back unashamedly. Then he apparently remembered he wasn't supposed to know them beyond yesterday, and returned to filling his empty plate like nothing had happened.

Nonetheless, it was too late, as Sirius, Remus and James stood up and approached the odd little boy, wanting to know now exactly what he was doing here.

"So now you are a Gryffindor, huh?" James said, commenting on Fred's school uniform and red and golden tie.

Lazzaro beamed at the older boy. "Yes, he is! He is home-schooled by his parents, but had to leave because it was to dangerous there! He also has a brother, George, who was supposed to come but didn't arrive, Fred is a bit worried for him..." He turned around and gave Fred an encouraging smile, "But I'm sure he'll come soon! I'd love to meet him, I'm sure he's a very cool guy!"

Reminded of what he was missing, Fred stabbed his eggs a bit forcefully. "I'd rather not talk about it, Lazzaro..."

He looked up to face the Marauders, "and sorry for yesterday, I'm not usually that gloomy. I was stressed out, the spell was having its toll on me, and I was worried about George..." not wanting to think on that topic further, he let a mischievous smile slide on his face, "But you never told me you were the pranksters of the school."

Lazzaro's head shot from Fred to the Marauders and back, eyes wide and mouth awed. "You already know each other!?"

"Yeah, we picked him up from the corridor yesterday, where he appeared." Sirius said non-chalantly.

Remus clear his throat pointedly. "Well, actually," Sirius relented, "it was Moony and Wormtail who picked him up, but we were all there when he woke up. He was a bit of an ass then, but now he has apologized, so everything is fine. And, yes! We're pranksters, and probably the best you'll ever see!"

Fred stood up and offered his hand, with an impish grin even wider than Lazzaro's. "The best pranksters I'll ever see, huh? Not too sure about that. The ones we did at home were pretty impressive."

"So you're a prankster too?" asked James as he shook his hand.

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Oh, James," exclaimed Sirius, "It seems we've found competition here!" Fred wasn't sure he was being sarcastic or not.

James smirked, and eyed him as if calculating whether Fred was a worthy opponent. Beside him, Lazzaro kept grinning obliviously (Blaise surely had inherited the Slytherin genes from his mother) and Thomas showed a befitting mixture of excitement and fear. Fred absentmindedly noticed Pettigrew had crept behind his friends again.

"James." Remus groaned wearily. "He's only just arrived! Give him a rest, will you?"

This sparked Fred to take action. "Oh no, Remus! Now you're really underestimating me. A rest – will you, please! – I've done more than enough resting in the Hospital Wing. Now, it's time for fun!" He clasped his hands together, silently laughing at the glances the Marauders were giving each other – if they hadn't thought Fred was insane before, they certainly did now.

"So what was it you wanted to propose to me, my dearest James?" he called jovially, "Tagging along with your little group, getting one on the Slytherins? Creating some great riot in the hall, to serve as a cover for your own mischief? I've heard about the kind of things you've done, and I greatly approve. Would love to join, actually." He gave them his evilest smirk, to convince them of his truly felt devotion. This was one of his greatest childhood dreams ever since finding the map, pranking with the Marauders! And if he ever needed something to distract his mind, now was the time.

"Join us!?" Sirius exclaimed indignantly, "Why would we allow sneaky, ickle second-years!? Not wanting to offend you, or anything, but I doubt you'll ever be able keep up."

Fred looked at Peter again, this time with one raised eye-brow. A moment later he shook off his pondering again, and put up a semi-affronted face.

"No offense taken, but it seems to me you're mistaking me for an ordinary, sneaky, ickle second-year! Do you really want to imply I'm an amateur on the noble field of pranking?"

James smirked. "I'd rather call it a bluff."

"That's it!" Fred cried dramatically, an accusing finger hovering in front of the offending boy's spectacles. "Pranking war, starting this lunch!"

He had to suppress his sniggering as he heard several gasps around him. Had he really now challenged the Marauders to a pranking war? Yes, he had! How could he not, they had just accused him of being not up to their standards! And even though the Marauders had been the twins' gods and role-models for much of their time at Hogwarts, he had his name as joke shop owner to defend.

Caught by a sudden flame of competition, James wildly pointed back, almost slamming his fist into Fred's nose, hollering: "You're on!"

That was it. He sat back on the bench, returned to his much needed food (there was a reason they'd only start at lunch time) and resumed eating, ignoring the wide-eyed stares he was getting from his house-mates.

"Have you any idea what you've just done?" said Thomas in a whisper.

"Yes," he replied casually, "I'm about to put those wankers in their place."

"Didn't you listen!?" Lazzaro almost squealed, "I told you, they're the Marauders! One does not cross them, or they get relentlessly pranked! Why don't you listen when I talk!"

"I did listen." Fred told them factually. "And I know exactly what I'm up to."

Thomas shook his head. "You're in for it, buddy. They are the worst troublemakers the school has ever seen. McGonagall says so herself!"

Fred only smirked; as the next words that left his mouth weren't meant for anyone to hear. "Reckon she does. Though, she has yet to meet the Weasley twins…"


	3. Harmless Pranks

As he had foreseen, second year lessons were… well, boring. At Transfiguration, McGonagall had handed them each a box with mice, which the students should transform in teacups following the instructions in the book. Weren't it for McGonagall's watchful eye, he'd just turned all those stupid mice in a tea set already and started plotting his pranks with Lazzaro and Thomas, but as it were, he had to act like this material was new for him.

So he watched how his classmates struggled with the spell, and simply began copying them: stressing the words purposefully wrong, deliberately missing his target, yelling on top of his voice, waving his wand as if it were his Beater bat rather than a fragile wooden stick.

Actually, it became sort of entertaining, watching the others blunder. Evershire tried so hard making the correct flick he made a little jump with every incantation. One of the Hufflepuff's got so worked up his mice blew up like balloons and floated away, reminding Fred of Harry's Aunt Marge. The group of girls in front of him was mostly giggling instead of practising the spell, and shrieking whenever a mouse came near the side of the box.

A mischievous smile crept onto his face. He leaned over his box so Thomas and Lazzaro wouldn't see, and fired a few doubling spells – for the maximum effect. Then, he stood back, said the incantation and made a great swirl with his wand, toppling over his box so all mice fell over the tittering tarts. The effect was immediate.

"Ho! Look out! My mice've escaped!"

"… EEEEHHHHHHH!"

"There is one in my robe, THERE IS ONE IN MY ROBE!"

"Catch them, don't let them escape!"

"THEY'RE ATTACKING ME!"

"Sybil, catch that mouse for me!"

"Mouse!? What mouse!? Get it away from me!"

"LADIES!" At once all screams were silenced under the stern gaze of an agitated McGonagall. With one flick of her wand all mice had disappeared. "What has gotten to you! They're only mice, no fire-spitting salamanders! And you…" she scowled at Fred, "What were you thinking? Throwing your mice at your class mates!? I expected better behaviour of you, Mr Weasley."

"But professor," it was a bit early to start calling her Minnie already, "it was an accident!"

"Could you then please read to me the instructions in the book and tell me how it does involve knocking over the target?"

Fred glanced down at his opened book and read the instructions out loud. "The Terra Vivus spell has the ability to change any given animal – preferably of the class Mammalia or Aves – into an item of pottery. One preforms the spell by saying the incantation clearly (TER-rah VEE-vus) while making a swift wand-movement downwards from the wrist, ending with the wand pointing at the intended target. One should not have to move any part of the body but the hand, nor should one have to make any movement but a straight line downwards."

"Is there any point in these instructions unclear to you?"

"No ma'am." Could Minerva honestly not see that Fred had just been enacting his fellow students?

She wordlessly summoned a mouse from Thomas' box and put it into Fred's. "Then would you care to perform the spell for me?"

He looked at the professor, he looked at the mouse, restrained a chuckle, cleared his throat audibly, stretched his wand hand over the mouse and then made a swift flick downwards. "Terra Vivus!"

The mouse changed into bright purple mug, festively decorated with flickering lights.

The surprise on her face reluctantly broke McGonagall's strict gaze; she seemed actually impressed with his spell work. Only one second later however, she regained her scowling composure. "Five points from Gryffindor for letting mice loose in the classroom, ten points to Gryffindor for showing competence over the material." She gave him a piercing glare over her glasses. "Try not to make it a negative."

Fred simply flashed her a smile.

Once her back was turned on them and she was far out of earshot, Lazzaro gave up pretending he could focus on his own improvement in the spell and diverted his attention to an actually intriguing subject: Fred. "How did you do that?" he whispered, amazement gleaming in his eyes, "I know you weren't really trying back then, so how did you manage to get it right at once?"

"Oh," he muttered, silently priding himself for being so conniving, "I guess these kind of things just come easily to me."

The Italian scowled, but his permanent grin made it hard to take him serious. "You lucky bastard!"

He just offered him his own most infuriating smirk.

The remaining hour they'd spent going through all possibilities to prank the Marauders, though admittedly the two younger boys weren't much help. For one, they were both rather anxious pranking them, neither wanting to get too far or too involved, and another thing was Fred knew far more of the foursome than he could let on; not only would he risk blowing his cover if he let something slip, he could upset the time-lines in a most disquieting manner and hurt people he considered his friends. His stomach turned at the thought of bringing Lupin's secret out in the open.

No, however inflated their heads may be, Remus' furry problem would remain untouched, as would the secret of their illegal Animagi-forms, though Fred doubted they'd have come that far yet. Also Sirius' family issues were out of the question, and he just refused to think of Pettigrew as the direct target.

The rat deserved a far crueller fate than a harmless prank.

...

James was the one to come up with the idea. Sirius was the one who would put it into motion. Remus was the one clever enough to mention not only Fred, but Lily Evans as well had red hair. James feared for his secret crush, and sent out Peter to stop her from entering the great hall. And all other red-heads, too, except a certain Fred Weasley, he was free to walk in.

As such, all Marauders with the exception of Peter Pettigrew, sat waiting at the Gryffindor table in anticipation.

"Uh, James, Remus, Sirius?" James and Remus looked around to find the blond boy who'd spoken, Thomas Cornfoot, and his friend Lazzaro Zabini.

"We want you to know we – Lazzaro and I – don't take part in this thing between you and Fred." Cornfoot glanced around at Zabini, who smiled at him but looked just as queasy. "We don't want to get involved."

James gave them a genuine smile. "No problem, it's him who's challenged us, not you."

He saw Cornfoot and Zabini ease at his words. They smiled gratefully, and headed to their own place. None of them had planned any pranks on the two, as they knew this urge to get one on the Marauders was Fred and Fred only. Nevertheless, if they did decide to help Fred with his plans, they would have every reason to worry…

Just then, Fred Weasley foolishly stepped through the large double doors, causing a great amount of water and foam to appear from the nothingness above his head and pour all over him.

James and Sirius roared with laughter as all students stared in shock at the fiery red-head being quenched. One by one, they came out of their daze, and began to giggle and rumour with their neighbours. Remus had severe difficulties not bursting out in chortles, and even Thomas and Lazzaro couldn't suppress a smile at Fred's soaked, foam covered, dumbfounded face.

At last, the victim found the Marauders, and gave them an acknowledging smile. Remus was silently glad Fred seemed to take it rather well, he'd hate creating true hostilities within the Gryffindor tower. Where he was concerned, their animosity with Snape was bad enough. Still, the young werewolf saw too this wasn't over yet. Fred had shown respect, no surrender. Even as Fred left a wet trail towards their table, his smirk made Remus perfectly aware he still had his own joke planned.

A few minutes after they'd stopped hollering and started eating Sirius felt something climbing up his leg: little paws clung onto his trousers and the weight dangled off his knee. Something softly stroke his ankle…

His friends gave him odd looks as his smile vanished and he ducked beneath the table. There it was… sniffling and clawing and looking straight at him with terrified, almost human eyes. A rat!

Sirius rumpled his face in disgust, and tried to shake it off.

James and Remus, both sitting opposite of him, traded non-understanding stares before peering under the cloth as well. James frowned as well at the sight. "Whose rat is that? It can't be wild, can it?"

Remus sniffed in the air. "Does smell familiar."

"What in Merlin, Remus!? You're sniffing at a rat?"

The werewolf shrugged.

"Well, I don't care what he smells like, why don't you help and get it off me!?"

James sat straight again to shake his head disapprovingly. "And breaking off true love? Can't you see!? He's obviously infuriated with you, would you deny him his one true love!? Think of the possibilities!"

Sirius shot James a withering glare. Beneath the wood, the rat was rather clinging on dear life than on dear Sirius.

"It seems tame." Remus informed them with a too amused smirk, "Maybe just tell it you don't return its feelings?"

Sirius scowled at his friends for not taking his problem serious, but nonetheless he ducked under the table again. "GET THE HELL OFF!"

To everyone's surprise, the rat squealed and ran off. The cause for this however, soon became clear as it leapt on Sirius' lap.

"WHOSE CAT IS THIS!"

James and Remus chuckled, until somewhere at the Ravenclaw table a pigtailed girl started yelling, "Hey! Miss Prissy? Where are you going? Miss Prissy!? Miss Prissyyyyy! Miiiiss Priiiiissyyyyyyyy!" A moment later Miss Prissy was brushing her head against James' pants.

Another cat was coming, black with white patches, jumping on James in an attempt to lick his ear, just as a large red male took over Remus' lap and began eating from his dish.

Just then, a needing meow came from Sirius' side. He looked at it; Sirius' face lost all colour, his mouth set in a grim line as his panicked eyes were focused on a spine-chilling sight…

Mrs Norris, looking as if she'd found the perfect father of her many, many little kittens.

While more and more cats and kittens came to snuggle against the Marauders and the whole great hall watched them in either annoyance or amusement, Fred felt kind of lost. Despite Thomas looking at him in awe and Lazzaro copying Fred's own face splitting grin, he missed someone to nudge, to collapse into in laughter, to make the final joke with, to high-five with and to stand up with, walk over to the Marauders with and tease them together about them having always been the cat-lover type. He'd never pranked anyone without George.

His smile faded quickly, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. What was this? He wasn't supposed to be an emotional wrack. He was Fred Weasley, for Merlin's sake! But who was Fred without George?

"Hey, Fred… Fred!" He looked to his left where Thomas looked at him with worry in his eyes. "Are you okay? Isn't this your prank?"

Fred's reaction startled Thomas. Or it wasn't his reaction really, but one short moment, Fred eyes locked with his, and at that moment Fred looked so much older than they both were, so much more responsible, and he couldn't bear the burden. But then, Fred's smile reappeared, and broke bravely through his worry.

"Yes, it's mine. I'm fine, sorry." he confirmed, before swiftly looking back at the food and hiding his expression.

That night, he heard him tossing in his bed. Thomas rose slowly, cautious not to wake anyone, and looked over at the bed where his red-haired friend lay. His curtains hung open, just like yesterday he'd left them open for some reason, but it didn't seem to bring him any form of comfort. Fred was obviously having a nightmare.

Despite being a Gryffindor, Thomas didn't dare to wake him from wherever he was in his dream. He felt that, whatever what was wrong with his friend, Fred wanted to keep private. So the only thing Thomas could hope, was that one day soon Fred would bring it up himself.


	4. Scabbers

It was only after McGonagall's detention that the Marauders managed to shake off the last cats and returned to the Gryffindor tower. Fred's little prank had earned them another week long detention from Wickerey, the strict, unfair, Slytherin-prefering Defence professor. But that wasn't the thing that they were worried most about…

Ever since they'd sent out Peter for their prank, he was nowhere to be seen. Not only didn't he show up for all the lessons, he was also absent from their joint detention, which most fortunately had only consequences for Peter himself. Minnie was irate.  
At first it had pissed them off – they were betrayed, as Sirius put it – but as the evening became darker and turned into night, that aggravation was replaced by concern.

When they turned the doorknob to their dorm, they half-expected to find Peter already in his bed, snoring away undisturbedly. He wasn't.

Sirius was the first to step inside and throw his bag onto his sheets, then turning on his heels to face his friends heading to their own beds. "Well, what will we do? Wash up and make ourselves comfortable for the night, sneak off to set off dung bombs under Fred's bed, or find out where Peter has been hiding all afternoon and pull his useless bum out of the trouble he's gotten into?"

Just as he finished his sentence, something squealed and a rat shot from under the bed besides Remus', straight at Sirius.

"WHAT –" Sirius looked ready to jump out of the way, but instead the rat stopped right in front of him and began staring – staring! – at him expectantly.

"Is that the same rat as this afternoon?" James queried, genuinely curious but a bit giddy about the whole affair still.

"I think so." Remus answered, more serious. "What would it be doing here?"

"Maybe it's some tail of Fred's prank, however lame." James would never admit he'd been quiet impressed – and annoyed – by the extent and durance of the prank; it had seemed like all cats at Hogwarts had been following them around, all day.

Then the rat squealed again, loudly, almost startling Sirius onto his bed and getting everyone's attention, and shook its head fervently.

"Wait, did it just… shake its head?" The rat turned around to James, looked him straight in the eyes and nodded, in a fashion that would nearly be described as desperate.

Sirius kneeled down, making it turn its head back again. He frowned solemnly, hoping he wasn't imaging everything and now making a fool of himself. "Do you understand human language?"

Again it nodded, and shrieked, like it wanted to tell them something.

Sirius threw himself back, bemused, resting his head on the mattress. "Okay. I'm meeting a talking rat."

"Well, talking isn't the word." contradicted James, who now had plopped down on his bed as well.

"Can you write?" asked Remus, hoping to make communication with the rodent easier, and to everyone's surprise it nodded again.

Remus got his inkwell and a piece of parchment out of his bag, deducing a creature with such tiny paws wouldn't have any use of a quill. He opened the well and placed both objects on the floor, ready for the rat to write with. It went over, sat on its large back paws, dipped one of its miniature hands in the black liquid and wrote five large capitals:

PETER

Sirius' mouth fell open. "You know where Peter is?"

It looked at him in a way as if it would've rolled its eyes if it could. Then it scurried to the head of the sheet, and added above the name:

I AM

"You're Peter!?" James exclaimed, stating the obvious, "But you're a rat!"

When Remus glared at him, he took a moment to consider what he'd just said and his face burned a shameful pink. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

It – Peter – dipped its paw in the ink a second time, to scribble clumsily between the black paw prints.

FRED

"Fred turned you into a rat!?" Sirius cried out indignantly. "The little bastard! How dare he –"

"The relevant question is: how could he?" Remus cut in.

"That's the same!"

Remus narrowed his eyes. "No, the way I meant it, it isn't. What I wanted to say was: how could he – as a second year, who only just started Hogwarts – turn a human into a rat? You know how much research we've done on Animagi, and you know what they said about turning people into animals, even if it isn't yourself! That's final years stuff, and even they often don't get it right! Then how could he, even younger than us, with zero experience, do it!?"

James shrugged. "Well, maybe he hasn't zero experience," he suggested reasonably, "how would you know, maybe it was the very first thing his parents taught him! Home schooling doesn't need to be poor if your parents are decent wizards. And we know his parents knew how to get through the Hogwarts wards..."

"Did they? Or was he lying?" Remus asked sharply, "Everyone knows breaching the Hogwarts wards should be impossible. So if he told the truth, his parents should be extraordinarily powerful wizards who don't shy away from experimental magic. Possibly dark. Either way, it sounds all highly suspicious to me."

Sirius chuckled. "Says the werewolf..."

Remus sent his friend an aggravated glare, who immediately felt guilty.

But that wasn't even all, James recalled. When they'd decided to become Animagi, to help Remus through 'his moon-lit period', Sirius and he had immediately claimed the animals they'd like to be - they'd even already come up with fitting nick names. Always the most thoughtful one, Remus told them one of them should be a small, quick animal, to take out the Wiping Willow. As usual, Peter drew the shortest straw, and would become a rat.

They hadn't told what animal they would be to anyone, not even Madame Pomfrey, who was the only one in the know of these Animagi plans. If even she didn't know, then how did Fred?

As James mentioned this to the group, Remus decided it would probably be coincidence, so it better shouldn't be mentioned to Fred - although they should keep their eyes open around him. They agreed to confront Fred tomorrow, so they could now bring Peter to the Hospital Wing and see to it he became human again. They could only hope Madame Pomfrey had some kind of antidote.

* * *

Fred opened his eyes on his own bed, in his own room, surrounded by dirty clothes and boxes full joke products, looking straight at a sleeping George. The warm morning light trickled into the narrow, dusty room, and he heard the familiar bustle beneath him of Diagon Alley. He felt he'd had a bad dream, but one which he now could only scarcely remember, and didn't matter anyway.

Soon greedy customers would fill the street, and Galleons would be handed to whatever early riser could offer them the right product. Before then, Fred needed to open the shop.

He walked through the door of his appartement, down a few flights of stairs, into the familiar kitchen of the Burrow, where mouth-watering smells of egg and saucages met him and his many siblings joked and quarrelled around the small table, as they used to when they were younger, and, frankly, as they still did as adults. Everyone was there: Charlie was talking about school and showing off his Captain's badge to him and George, Ginny was complaining Ron took all the bacon, Percy was, as usual, ignoring the noise and reading a book, and even Bill was there, with Fleur and their new-born baby, letting him be cooed over by Molly and Arthur. The scene made him smile, this were things as they were supposed to be, now Voldemort was gone - their family, eating breakfast.

He paid them no further heed however – he and George hadn't eaten breakfast with their family ever since they moved out, they were too busy with the shop. So instead he went outside, into the brightly lit backyard. There, underneath the old oak surrounded by gnome-holes, sat a twelve-year-old version of himself, together with a just as old version of George, huddled over their chocolate frog card collection. That summer, they'd planted the first seeds from what had now grown into the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Well, the products and inventions came only later, but the fundamental, profit-oriented thinking that was the basis of every shop in Diagon Alley – the kind that could turn an otherwise wild idea into a thriving business – had spurted right there. The sale of their frog card collection.

That reminded him of his initial plan – to open up the shop. He quickly went inside the house again, leaving their cheerful chatter behind, wondering where again the shop was. Once inside, all sounds seemed to mute, until the soft ticking of their mother's clock was the only thing to be heard. How odd, he thought, he knew he'd been to the shop from the Burrow before - he had to be, the shop was their living after all - but he seemed unable to recall how exactly to get there. How inconvenient everyone had finished breakfast and left by now, or he could have asked someone. But their father had his work, Bill was running some errand for the order, and their mother had left to Diagon Alley with Ron and Ginny, to buy food for Scabbers.

Scabbers. Fred frowned, something wasn't right there. But that was unimportant right now, first he needed to find their shop.

Luckily, as he walked into the living room, he found his twin sitting on the couch. Of course, George had woken up as well, ready for a full day of work, waiting for him. He surely would lead them the right way, if only he wouldn't see Fred had forgotten where there shop was, that would be embarassing.

"'Morning, Georgie." he greeted merrily the back of George's head. To his surprise, George ignored him. Hadn't he heard him, or was he again to caught up in some invention or another?

He rounded the couch, still talking to his twin. "Come on, George, wake up! The shop is waiting for us!"

This time George snorted, something Fred took a bit of offence in. What had he done to him recently?

"How would I ever be able to enter that place again?" His brother's voice sounded grim and angry, not like his brother at all. And why would he talk that way about their shop? It was George's dream as much as it was Fred's, right? It was their dream, their appartement, their shop, never had George voiced any argument against it, never had he hinted he might want to go his own way.

"George?" Fred turned around, taking a good look at George. He seemed perfectly fine at first glance, but no one knew George as well as Fred did, so no one picked up anything out of sort quicker than he.

It appeared he hadn't been looking quite well enough, as there actually was a lot wrong with George's appareance. First of all, George wasn't wearing his bright work robes, like Fred had thought, but rather old Muggle clothing he seemed to have been wearing for a while. His face was unshaved, his hair was uncombed, and the circles beneath his eyes were so deep he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Empty bottles Fire-whisky and other stuff Fred didn't even want to know about littered the floor at his feet and he looked thin and greyish, like he was in dire need for a bath and a meal, and his eyes, his eyes…

His eyes looked in the distance, to a place further than Fred could see. They were red-rimmed, like he'd cried, cried for days and simply not able to cry anymore.

"George!?" He ran over, kneeling in front of his twin. "George! Georgie, you look terrible! Are you feeling okay!?"

Finally George's eyes focused on his brother, and he sent him a cutting, ice-cold glare. Fred was shocked to see this expression on the face of his twin, even more as it was directed at him. "Of course, I'm not okay! Why should I be!?"

"Then what is wrong!?" Fred demanded alarmedly.

The temperature in the room fell with at least twenty degrees, and George jaw clasped shut. Then he stood up, shoved Fred roughly out of his way and marched away through the front door.

Fred hastily scrabbled upright and followed him, over the road, along fields and cattle, farms and villages. Finally, they reached a green open place surrounded by trees, the backyard again, Fred realized.

There George collapsed. He now made barely any sound, but the sobs shook his body as he clamped onto the tussocks, as if he wanted to be there, to regain something that had been buried right there, meters beneath the earth.

He was talking, almost inaudible by the choked crying. Fred came closer, wanting to hear his twin, but mostly wanting to comfort. Nevertheless, the things George said befuddled him.

"You promised… you promised you wouldn't leave me alone! I asked, you said, then why aren't you here! Then why am I alone! I can't be! I'm not supposed to be!... Please, Fred. Please come back. I don't know what to do without you. I don't know who I am, how to live without you…" George was interrupted by a heart-wracking sod, followed by a pained grimace.

He couldn't see him, Fred realized. He was right there, kneeling besides him, his arm across George's shoulder, but George couldn't feel him, didn't know he was there.

"Fred… Where are you? Please come back. I can't live without you. I've tried, but I can't. I really can't…"

Only then did Fred see the gravestone.

_Fred Weasley_

_01-04-1978 – 03-05-1998_

_He lived for light and laughter,_

_He died fighting against the dark._

_Our dear twin, son, brother and friend,_

_You'll always be the light in our hearts._

But he couldn't be dead, he was right there. But George couldn't see him. Could he have died, and not realized? Didn't he die in that dream he'd had? But that was reality, wasn't it? He'd died, but then travelled back in time, and now lay in a dorm in the Gryffindor tower. That's where he'd truly wake up, not in his apartment above the shop, which didn't even connect with the Burrow. That was absurd. This whole situation was absurd. He was dreaming right now. But that was no reason to believe that in the real world George wasn't crying, mourning his death -

Fred opened his eyes on a Hogwarts four poster, in the Gryffindor dorms, surrounded by dirty clothes and trunks full of school supplies, looking straight at a sleeping Norman. Reality sunk in. His heart was submerged in a pool of ice-cold water.

* * *

The next morning, when he entered the Common Room with his new friends, three of the four Marauders awaited Fred.

The tension was immediate. Remus, James and Sirius were staring at him as Fred stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wavering from one gaze to the other, Cornfoot and Zabini nearly stumbling over him. This was either about the prank, which he found unlikely, about Peter, in which case he should find an explanation and quickly, or they'd discovered his identity as time-traveller, in which case he should dismiss the notion, ensure they kept their traps shut or, if all else failed, stun and obliviate the entire Common Room.

"'Morning," he greeted, thinking it best to directly get to the point, "there is something you wanted to say to me?"

"Weasley," James was the first to speak up, ignoring the curious, annoyed or guarded glances from the several other occupants of the Common Room. "Did you turn Peter into a rat yesterday?" His words were cool and calm, just a question, not an accusation. Not yet.

Fred's first instinct was to look at his twin, who would look at him, then deciding on an answer together through looks, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away. Instead he decided on the answer himself, and directly replied: "Well, yes. He was standing alone in the hallway and I thought -" he thought 'you dirty rat, you call them your best friends but you betrayed them as soon as that seemed convinient. And you would do it again, now, anytime! Maybe you were better off as Scabbers anyway...' "- that it was the ideal opportunity to prank him."

"He's been missing all day!" James yelled, his calmth long forgotten, "It was through sheer luck he managed to get into our dorm, or he might still have been running around as rodent! Where was he supposed to find food, shelter... ever thought of that!? What would have happened if we hadn't found him!?"

He would've found a nice, cosy family, and joined them as their beloved pet, Fred thought spitefully. Hell, he still owed them for those years of food and shelter, but instead he chose to revive the Dark Lord, and let Death Eaters torture Hermione at the Malfoys. Fred wouldn't have felt an ounce of guilt if Pettigrew grew hungry for a night.

"But you did find him, right?" Fred chose to reason, "And else he could've gone to the Hospital Wing, or to one of the teachers. He could've made to anyone clear who he was, and else he could always have come to me." Fred shrugged. "It was just a prank, like any other. I really don't see why you're acting so uptight about this." To his surprise, sniggering came up from the back of the Common Room.

"This is not just a prank, and we are not acting uptight!" Sirius snapped defensively, "And do you really think he would have come to you!? He is bloody terrified of you!"

"It is just a prank," Fred insisted, "and I thought you could take a joke. I'm sorry if I was mistaken." he ended huffily. The Marauders didn't seem to take his 'apology' well.

"It seems he's got you, Black!" someone teased from near the fire.

Sirius scowled to the girl who'd spoken up, before turning back to Fred. "This is not what this is about! We can take a joke, but this was mean. This was a Slytherin thing to do!" James nodded vigoriously in agreement.

"Get off it, the two of you! What Weasley did is no different from the kind of things you do 'as a joke'! You should've gotten hexed, though, instead of Pettigrew!"

Fred felt incredibly glad for the help he got from these two girls in corner, even though they got Peter totally wrong. He took a quick glance at them. The one who'd spoken first had a round, friendly face and dark hair, and the other one had fiercely red hair, though a few shades too dark for a Weasley. Prewett maybe, but the youngest Prewetts he knew were his uncles Gideon and Fabian. So probably not.

"There is a difference!" Sirius exclaimed once again indignantly, but then he glanced at Remus, who shook his head, and Sirius' shoulders slumped. "Fine!" he shouted after a moment of scowling. "We'll take it as a joke, though not a very good one. But it's a truce until Pete is out of hospital, got it? And no more picking on Peter!"

With that, he turned on his heels and stormed away, shortly followed by James who glared at Fred for half a second longer, just to make clear he was no less angry than Sirius was. Remus stayed there for a moment, indecisively, his frown deepening and his mouth opening as if he was on the verge of asking something, but then he changed his mind and followed the other two on their way to breakfast.

"Don't worry, kiddo. They might be miffed, but they really had it coming. At least, I don't feel any regret for them." The red-headed girl - no Weasley or Prewett, but red-headed all the same - smiled at him, clearly enjoying the fact the Marauders got pranked for once.

Fred shrugged. "No bother. I just hope they'll forgive me after some time, I wouldn't want to create any animosity within the Gryffindor House." He then turned to face the two with a smile. "Fred Weasley, by the way. I'm a new student in the second year."

"Lily Evans, third year." the red-head introduced, and Fred had to call on all his restraint to keep his mouth from falling open. Harry's mum. His look flitted to her eyes. Green as fresh pickled toads…

Then the girl beside her said: "Alice Bredwell, friend of Lily."

* * *

Minerva had felt immensely relieved when she found Peter safely in the hospital wing that morning, though the accusations that came with him made much of the tension of that night return. She hadn't slept well, that night, and much of it was once again because of the Marauders.

Only this time, it weren't their own jokes and actions that had made her toss around in worry. Her apprehension began when instead of four guilty faces, only three of the self-acclaimed Marauders appeared in front of her door to make the assigned lines. Immediately suspicious, and not without reason, she demanded to know from the three where their friend Peter was, why he wasn't with them and if he didn't understand that she expected all of them to turn up for their misschief.

It had taken quite a bit of arguing and insisting, but they had sworn they had no idea where he hung out themselves, he'd been gone for the whole afternoon, didn't turn up for lunch or dinner and they had even gotten detention from Mr Wickers because Peter was gone, which was so unfair! They certainly had seemed angry at their friend, especially Sirius, who spoke about 'abondoment' and 'betrayal' and made some not so nice suggestions about what Peter might be doing all the time.

As she made them write their lines, McGonagall's worry silently grew worse. A bit of enquiry confirmed the Marauders were currently engaged in a 'prank war' with Fred Weasley, hence all those cats she'd had to magically lock out of her office. The second year who had disconcerted her from the beginning, when Dumbledore told her he'd suddenly appeared in a seventh floor corridor, presumably from the future. She would always follow the Headmaster, but she couldn't really understand why he had trusted the boy on his words alone.

Even Dumbledore admitted that the means by which Fred Weasley had time-travelled were most likely dark and experimental. According to the Headmaster, the boy had assured him he hadn't known how this had happened and not even expected it himself, so Fred shouldn't be blamed for the incident but rather be protected from whomever did this to him or who otherwise wanted to do him harm. Weasley had seen enough. Dumbledore would not entrust her the details, but confided that the circumstances previous to Weasley's 'departure' were disquiting, possibly traumatizing to the boy and made everything that much darker.

And then, not even a day after Fred Weasley had enrolled the curriculum, a student had mysteriously disappeared. She hadn't wanted to blame the boy, but it was disconcerting, even Dumbledore should see that.

Now it was clear Peter had merely been changed into a rat and was on his way to normalcy again, it still ruffled her that it was Fred who'd been the culprit. She remembered how he'd annoyed and impressed her on his first lesson, and how his prank on the Marauders had inspired awe amongst his peers - and the older students of the school. No one knew how he'd done it, but combined with the other things he'd accomplished that day, it was abundantly clear to her that Fred was a very capable wizard for his age. And combined with the complex, dangerous magic that had transported his here, it just didn't sit well with her, not at all.

She would bring her concerns to the Headmaster.


	5. Chapter 5

He was a stupid, bloody, _idiot_. That was the main conclusion of his research so far. He couldn't have botched up time more than he had, that was for sure. Cursing Pettigrew. Daring the Marauders into a prank war. Getting this freaking _spotlight _onto him that just wouldn't go away, once the rumours started spreading... Showing progress far beyond his age. Rudely ignoring everyone he knew to be a Death-Eater, clenching his fist when anyone he shouldn't know got nearby. Dumbledore _had _to be suspicious by now. He couldn't guess of _what_, but much too often he caught the head-master looking at him. He tried to ignore those looks.

He had still no idea how he arrived here, let alone how to get back, but in truth he had expected that much. Dumbledore had told him the very first moment he woke up in the Hospital Wing; that what he'd experienced, was unheard off. No wonder it wasn't noted down in one of the books in the Library.

The only thing that had been of any use to him were the warnings, may one find himself in another time. Never go looking for people you know or know off. Never leave your tracks, either in mud or in minds. Hide your existence, don't distract anyone from what he or she is doing, go back as soon as you can. His very _presence_ would alter the future in unexpected ways, if he wished to attempt to leave the time-lines unscathed, he was doomed to fail. Needless to say, this wasn't very reassuring.

Then there were his schoolmates. In four of his classes – Potions, Charms, Herbology and Care for Magical Creatures, all classes shared with the Slytherins, obviously – were not one, but _two _to him familiar Death-Eaters. One of them he only knew by name – and to his surprise, wasn't as arrogant or evil as he'd expected. That was Regulus Black, Sirius' little brother, according to the latter he failed at one of his master's requests and had to pay the price for it, the price of his head.

The second one, he was better acquainted with, though him as well Fred only recognized by name. He was the one who taught him quite a few defensive spells, and later lead his friend Harry into what was supposed to be a death trap, but as always the Boy-Who-Lived came out alive and well. Cedric didn't. He'd Scabbers to thank for that.

Futhermore, this was one of the merry foursome who would torture dear Alice – now still Bredwell – and Frank Longbottom – who he'd spotted at the Gryffindor table the other day – to insanity, leaving an insecure hero behind. And last but not least, his father would be Percy's deranged employer.

The second one was Barty Crouch.

As if that wasn't enough, he'd walked into his namesake once – Uncle Gideon, and his twin, Uncle Fabian –, brushed along Andromeda Black, met some more dead Order members and their murderers… and then there was Snape. He would've pitied him, weren't it he hated him so much…

Snape with the doubtful alliances. Snape-who-made-them-fail-potions. Snape the Gryffindor hater. Snape, who had a good reason to hate who'd held Hogwarts in a reign of terror. Snape without friends. Snape who killed Dumbledore. Snape who was being mercilessly bullied by the Marauders. Snape who'd cut off his brother's ear…

George could've died back then. He may have shrugged it off, they may have joked about it – what was one little ear against the fate of the universe? – but one inch to the right, and his twin brother would've been dead. He wouldn't have a twin anymore. He wouldn't _be _a twin anymore. Instead of him, George might've been here, and he might've been haunting George dreams, instead of the other way around. Though, if George thought he were dead, he was pretty sure George would dream about him too. _He_ would. They would – they _did _– dream about each other.

If Snape had murdered George that night, Fred didn't know how he would have reacted. Would he want revenge? Would he stop wanting anything, becoming complete stoic to the world? Either way, Snape obviously hadn't cared. Dumbledore had trusted him, but Snape was just as cruel as the rest of them. A traitor, actually, just like Pettigrew.

He wanted to seek revenge on the both of them, but rationally knew that wasn't a good idea. That it would only ruin the future further. Maybe another time, when he'd found a way to get back, or when everything was already so shattered than it didn't really matter what he did anymore, as he would have as much knowledge of the future as the next person.

Pettigrew was positively frightened of him ever since he left the Hospital Wing. He didn't know what he'd said to his friends, but they, too, seemed to avoid him, which honestly was kind of convenient. The truce was still standing, and in spite of Lazzaro's constant pleas for some fun and entertainment, Fred wasn't planning on resuming their war any time soon. Actually, it had disappointed him, as he'd hoped it would take his mind off the painful absence of his brother but it had done quite the opposite. Pranking reminded him whom he used to prank _with_, of better times that might never come again, and that was the least he needed right now.

Right now he needed to focus on maintaining that future, and finding a way back home, however impossible that seemed. So that's how he'd spend the past few weeks…

Spending more time in the Library than in all his Hogwarts years combined – which simultaneously provided an excuse for knowing all those spells –, following his lessons without raising more suspicion and keeping friends with Lazzaro and Thomas, whose company was one of the few positive things of being in the past. He might try to find them, when he got back, and look if they could still remembered him. That would be fun. Especially since Lazzaro was in all likelihood Blaise's father, Fred would just love to see the latter's face. But if they remembered him, Pettigrew certainly would, and that might scare him away from ever becoming Percy's pet – which in itself would be a relief, but what where the consequences? Would he make it easier for him to revive his master? Would Sirius ever get out of Azkaban? Would he even ever get _in _this time around… What if Harry's parents were still alive, what if Voldemort wasn't ever defeated in the first place!? Who would be the Chosen One then?

He didn't know. He _didn't bloody know_, so he just put his mind on researching the magical supernatural and trying to forget about the rest. Forgetting that George wasn't by his side. He wasn't just studying – knowledge for knowledge's sake, as Hermoine liked to do –, he was working towards a solution, which was how he dealt with all his problems. It was the _only_ way he could deal with missing George.

"_The Flamel Effect: How Splitting Stones From Highly Magical Areas Can Cause Magical Incidents_. Interesting. Do you need this to catch up with the rest?"

Fred tensed up immediately, half from the startling effect of being sneaked up on, and half from simply hating the person who'd done so. Only a younger, more naïve Snape would do something like this.

"Shouldn't you be washing your hair or something? It smells." Although he knew now how low that remark was, he just didn't want to talk right now. Not to anyone, and least of all to someone who would end up attempting to kill his brother.

"Fred! Take that back! Severus was only being nice!"

He looked up from his book in utter befuddlement, straight into Harry's bright green eyes. They scowled at him beratingly. Why was Lily defending Snape?

Snape crossed his arms and glared at the red-head in a way that suggested – if Snape had blood like a normal human being – he would shine red with embarrassment. "You're not studying at all, are you? You're planning your next 'joke'," he spat the word 'joke' if it were something vile, "on the Marauders, which make you just like them." The last bit was said with a bit of disappointment in his voice, as if he'd expected Fred to be different, just because he was reading a book.

"Well, sorry for not living up to your expectations," he replied, with a bit of a bite in his voice, "but, yes, I am a prankster. Which I believed I made pretty clear on my first day here."

"Then why are you studying so often?" Lily asked, with a hint of sympathy in her voice. That made him look up again, bemusedly. Why this interest in him? He'd just snapped at them, hadn't he, quite crudely.

"A… prankster need to study to play pranks." he responded, not very convincingly. He then made a vague head-gesture to Snape. "What he said… in fact."

"Fred," the inquisitive girl turned on her chair, facing Fred directly. "Is there anything wrong? I know it can be hard to suddenly enter a magical environment, and then you're entering one and a half year late." she smiled a smile he often dubbed 'the empathic-girl-smile', which made him quite nervous, as he didn't tend to see himself as the guy who craved empathy. She went on, "I'm Muggle-born myself, you see, though I knew I was a witch early on. Severus told me." Severus told her?

"If you've problems with adjusting, or catching up, or if Potter and his band are bothering you, you can just tell me, okay? A know you have your own friends – Thomas and Lazzaro are very nice – but if there's anything you don't want to bother them with… You just seem troubled, that's all."

He let out a genuine chuckle, one that hopefully told her he really didn't need her to stick up for him. "I'm sorry, I appreciate the gesture, but you're taking me for the wrong type of person. I can manage myself, no worries."

Her expression turned sterner, serious. "I heard Lazzaro say you're having nightmares. You're having me worried."

"Oh." So he was tossing in his sleep, great to know. Really, Lazzaro… he was a great friend, but not the one to keep his trap shut when needed. Fred shook his head in a hopefully reassuring manner. "But there really isn't any reason to worry yourself about. Everyone has nightmares from time to time, haven't they?"

"You have them, _every_,_ night_."

Fred didn't know an answer to that; so he just resumed reading.

After a few minutes of silence, in which, unfortunately, Fred hadn't heard them leave, Snape's voice startled him again, though he was not right behind his back now, thank Merlin.

"How come you're so good at spells?"

"Merlin, Snape! You're going to give a heart-attack one day, I swear!" Fred exclaimed dramatically at Snape's monotone question. The latter rolled his eyes.

"I'll ignore what you said earlier. How come you're so at spells? You're younger than us, have been here little over a month, and yet you've everyone saying how great you are. How come!?" Finally a faint shimmer of emotion came through, something that hold middle between impatience and jealousy. Would Snape be jealous because he was better at spells than him?

"I have _no idea_ what you're talking about." Fred hadn't looked up from his book.

"_Potter_ is afraid of you! _Black_ is afraid of you! They all seem to hate you but don't dare a thing!" Still not looking up, the hurt was clear as he winced at the names. Sirius. Harry's dad. They still hated him for what he did to Pettigrew.

Pushing these thoughts aside – it was impossible to explain and make up with his former heroes – Fred noticed the emotion of the boy in front of him. Was that why Snape was jealous? That, even though the Marauders disliked the both of them, Snape was pranked and bullied every day, while Fred seemed to be avoided with the greatest care? That Fred apparently frightened them, while he was seen as nothing but a weak, pitiful little creep?

Again, he said nothing, and continued reading.

Therefore, he didn't notice Snape getting his wand out, and pointing it at him. Had he actually looked up to reply, he might have seen Lily widening her eyes in shock just a moment before he heard Snape call out, "Legilimens!"

Never before, Fred had experienced something quite as intruding as this. Thoughts and memories flew by in flashes, while a fourteen year old Snape was there with him, not knowing what to do in the panicked, uncoordinated whirlwind of Fred'smind. Neither of them had any control as they went deeper and deeper; Fred and George running for dear life followed by a seething Charlie, unrelated laughter suspiciously like his own, Snape's vicious remarks at the end of fifth year, simultaneous pacing as they worried for Ginny's life, Angelina crawling onto him, kissing him heatedly…

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?"

Fortunately for them both, Fred's anger drew them out of the intimate scene before anything more could be seen. Snape staggered backwards, eyes wide, mouth agape, redder than Fred had ever imagined him. Fred didn't bloody care. He realised he was on his feet now, wand out and ready.

"I… I-I-I didn't know…"

"YOU DIDN'T KNOW!? YOU DIDN'T KNOW _WHAT _NOW!? SO YOU DECIDED TO JUST EXPERIMENT ON ME!?"

Snape opened his mouth, not knowing how to apologize, then frowned bemusedly, absorbed by the impossibility of the things he'd just witnessed and his shock and shame suddenly forgotten.

"Why are you older in your memories than you are now?"

Fred's grip on his wand tightened. He would _not _let this brother-killing, snakelike, backstabbing bastard ruin his only chance of finding his way home. "_Wouldn't you like to know_," he sneered, "Ever heard of the word '_privacy_'!? _My _memories are _my _business, so keep your oversized nose OUT OF IT!"

Fearing Fred would attack him, Lily grasped Snape's sleeve before he could retort. "Sev, what did you do?" she asked sternly.

He wanted to reply, but Fred beat him to it. "Legilimency. He intruded my mind and saw some of my memories. Memories no one should have seen."

She gasped in shock, but Snape seemed to be oblivious both of them. "You lied to us. You have been at Hogwarts before and you were older –"

"Severus, you better apologize to him." Lily cut in sharply, half out of indignation but also out of concern for her friend; Fred still was holding his wand and looked downright murderous.

Snape, however, jerked his arm away from her, upset that his message didn't come through. "No, Lily, listen to _me_! He is not who he says he is! He is older!" he became silent one moment, as another aspect stroke his mind, "Who was that black-haired Potions teacher?"

"None of your concern." Fred snarled back.

"If you don't tell me I'll go to Dumbledore!" Fred froze. Dumbledore couldn't know. If he knew, he would see him as a danger to the school. As an enemy. All frail trust he had left, would be devastated, and Dumbledore would want to know everything, and use his knowledge to destroy Voldemort. But who would pay the prize? What kind of tasks would he deem Ron and Harry to, if even they would exist? How could he trust a man who'd sent his little brother on a life-threatening mission that he wasn't even allowed to talk with his family about? In fact, Fred didn't know a thing of what they'd been doing, but it was exactly because of that why his chances of saving his future were so slim. If only he'd _known,_ he could have helped them, and he would be able to help them now. If he'd known, he could have trusted Dumbledore.

"It's me, isn't it?" Fred's attention snapped back to Snape. "You thought of him as Snape. My father is a Muggle, I'm the only magical Snape around. That means… you're from the future." And there it was, the truth. Snape had figured it out. _Snape_.

"So what do you want to do?" He managed to sound defeated yet daring at the same time, though Snape was unfazed anyway.

"Dumbledore can also do Legilimency, you know? If you don't want him to discover your secrets, you should learn Occlumency, or he can get all you trying to hide right out of your head."

That had Fred silent for a while. He sat back in his chair and finally let loose of his wand, lowering it slowly on the table. Dumbledore could read his mind, and would probably do a much better job at it than a fourteen year old Snape. If Snape hadn't told him – if Snape hadn't found out he came from the future – he wouldn't have had any idea of it until it was too late. Snape had practically saved him by telling him.

"Wait… Is it true then? You actually _are _from the future?" Lily's question got Fred out of his daze, and he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the other end of the room. Momentarily she was afraid he had changed his mind and would hex them, but instead he mumbled some unknown curse that, frankly, didn't seem to have any effect.

"Muffliato," he clarified, "keeps unwanted ears from overhearing sensitive matters." He laid his wand arm down. "And yes, I am from the future. A future you've probably pretty much ruined by finding out."

"Oh," she said, a little downcast, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." he told her, sending an accusing look to Snape. "You weren't the one deciding to 'penetrate my mind'." The implied person clenched his jaw nervously. "Though I have to thank you for warning me, I guess." Fred admitted begrudgingly.

"I just knew you were hiding something from us, and with all the gossip going around, I didn't trust you." Fred snorted, he knew the gossip. "It was the first time I cast the spell."

"So you practically _were_ experimenting on me?" Fred raised one eyebrow.

"I've researched it all year! I knew what it would do!"

Fred snorted. "Leave it. I shouldn't be the one accusing anyway, experimenting concerned."

Lily frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Fred thought of the many times Hermione had scolded them for testing out their products on ickle, fragile first years – not that they did mind, they accepted their generous payment eagerly. "Nothing."

"Then why are you here?" Snape's distrust was still clear in his voice. After all, the only thing that was certain, was that he'd lied.

"I don't know." Snape gritted his teeth, half from nerves and half from annoyance, dependent of Fred turned out to be dangerous or not.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Lily asked, trying to be sympathetic, but it rather rubbed Fred the wrong way.

"I don't know, okay!? I have _no freaking idea _what happened, that's what I'm trying to find out!"

"Then what are the nightmares about?"

Fred put his fingers deep in his fire-red hair, and gave the two an ice-cold glare, knowing that what they wanted to know would shock them, which was the only reason for him to concede. "I died." he told them harshly. "I don't know if they ever found a body, but if I weren't here, I would've positively died, and for others it would seem like I did. I left people behind. If they still exist, they will think I'm dead."

Lily and Severus didn't quite know what to say to that, so only a tense silence remained. It wasn't broken until Fred exhaled and looked away, letting his arms fall in his lap and nodding at the still open book. "There was a lot of broken stone involved."

His voice sounded tight, and they understood more prodding was neither appropriate, nor fruitful.

"We can help you." Lily suggested. Fred shook his head absentmindedly, his eyes tired yet restless. "I'm sure Severus can help you learn Occlumency, if you want to."

Fred grimaced. Snape was the last person now he wanted him to teach. But if he wished to keep Dumbledore from discovering the truth, he guessed he had no choice.

Severus shrank back at the hostile glare he then received, but his exterior remained stoic. To his surprise, Fred accepted, with the utmost reluctance, but still. "But _no _questions about the things you see, _no _talking to _anybody _and when you see anything too private, or relevant to your future, you step out _immediately _and try to _forget it_. I don't want you changing the future because of the things you see. _Is that clear!?_"

Snape nodded, but nonetheless raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem too happy about me helping out?"

"_That's because I am not._" Snape slightly stepped back when Fred hissed his response, staring at him as if he'd rather violently murder him than giving Snape another chance to look into his brain. But he couldn't kill him, as that would disrupt the course of time. Still, Severus didn't feel very safe at the prospect of meeting this boy – this man, he was definitely older and more experienced than he looked – regularly, to train their receptive Legilimency and Occlumency skills.

"Well, that's convenient, because I don't like you either." he responded coldly, causing Lily to groan. Well, she could hardly blame him, could she? He had been perfectly friendly to Fred before, _he _was the one acting hostile.

Fred rose resolutely from his chair. "Good. When and where will we see each other?"

"Tomorrow after lessons, the empty classroom near Transfiguration."

"I've got a better idea, do you know the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor?"

Lily and Snape shared a look, neither of them having heard of it. Lily suggested, "The Arithmancy classroom is on the seventh floor, what about we gather there and then you can show us the way to that portrait?"

He nodded, and stared at them intently. After a second, he rose his eyebrows and said in an impatient tone. "Alright, see you there." When they still didn't leave, he scowled at them, "Are you going anywhere now, or are you just going to stand there!?"

"We'll stay here for a bit, I think." Lily answered, deciding to ignore the sarcasm and take his question serious, "We were planning on doing some home-work together."

Fred grunted and rolled his eyes, before hastily throwing his things in a bag and leaving for the Gryffindor Common Room. It wasn't likely he'd get any research done there, but at least Thomas and Lazzaro wouldn't be pestering him with interrogations and uncalled-for help.

After he'd left, Lily wondered whether to be disappointed or not. She only wanted to be nice to a fellow student, and perhaps give Severus a chance of befriending someone who didn't blindly follow the Marauders, but that plan had went horribly askew. Yet, at the same time, she'd gotten so much more than she'd bargained for. Fred came from the future, and with every step he took, there was a risk he would annihilate the future he came from. He might never see his family back. No wonder he didn't want anyone to know about himself. And yet, now they did.

* * *

That night, Fred would dream of the Room of Requirement, the version of the room in which the Vanishing Cabinet stood they'd once pushed Montague in. The entire room was in ashes.

He felt he was looking for something, something small, something important, something beyond crucial that was hidden somewhere in the enormous blackened hall. That Harry had hidden there. He was livid with Harry, a sentiment that startled him. Before he saw he wasn't himself; he was George again. It was George desperately digging through piles of burned stock, not knowing where else to look, livid with Harry for hiding it. _It_. Afterwards, Fred wouldn't remember what _it _was.


	6. Chapter 6

**I almost** **can't believe I only got reviews about what _it _was, and none of you seemed to notice that Fred was dreaming about a _charred _Room of Hidden Things, while he died before it became that way. I thought it was quite obvious what _it _was, but well, you'll discover in this chapter then :)**

**Please read and review! :)**

**P.S. I've written this chapter listening to the Harry Potter soundtrack of 'The Prince's Tale'. Lily and Snape's story (and music) is quite fitting for this story actually, and I'll try to integrate it more into this one. Trying to undo some more tragedies while cheating death, time the Prophecy and destiny, so to speak... Point is, I'm changing the 'Dumbledore' character tag into 'Snape'. Just so you know.  
**

* * *

The next afternoon, after Fred had finished his classes, he stood in the corridor, just outside of where he knew was the Room of Requirements. Just a few meters away from where he almost had died, where he had lost any connection with the world he came from. Though he didn't ponder on it, instead, he looked at Barnabas being thwacked around the head by trolls in tutu, wondering if he would even manage to create the Room successfully. He was ascertained he could, it wouldn't be too difficult, but he had never purposively tried it, had he? After all, he and George had only really discovered it during the DA classes, and then it was Harry or Neville who'd opened it.

He glanced over his shoulder, to the plain wall behind him. He was ascertained he could, but it wouldn't hurt to try first, before Snape and Lily came here.

He turned his back to the miserable Barnabas, and strode up and down the corridor three times, thinking about a room fit for learning Occlumency. When the door appeared, he doubted whether if he opened it he would find what he was looking for, as he had found it surprisingly hard to focus. He'd had a lot on his mind the past month, after all, and felt all kinds of thoughts nagging just beneath the surface of his subconscious. But well, he could always try again if the result turned out to be a disappointment.

Curious for the result, he swung the door open, made to step inside, but froze.

For behind the heavy wooden door, lay not a classroom, or a chamber, but an immensely great hall, the grand ceiling supported by a great number of immovable pillars, rising from imposing heaps of molten gold, silver and black ashes, sooth covering the stone floor, as if he'd just entered a place of disaster, once a rich treasure, but haunted by the memories of death and destruction.

It was the room of his dream.

He set down his foot, and quietly closed the door. As he moved through the entrance, he felt he grew taller, his nose became longer, his cheeks became slightly rougher by the invisible stubble that he used to shave. He looked at his hands, his new hands, his old hands, and his sleeves, as he was wearing the same clothes as that day. The day he travelled back in time.

What was this? Did it only look like this, because he'd unconsciously remembered it from his dream? Had _he_ made this room, to resemble the picture his mind had formed? Was that why he'd into his old, his _actual _age? Because he'd imagined himself this way?

In theory, it could be possible, weren't it the Room had never before gone such ends to meet the wishes of his creator. His hand reached up to feel his left ear. Still there. He was still Fred, at least…

He briefly considered going back, but instead decided to walk further among the ashes, in reality not too concerned about his change in physical appearance. It was nothing significant, a simple Aging-solution could do the same trick, so why not the Room? The longer he thought about it, the less alarming it became. He felt strangely invincible in this strange room.

In fact, he felt like he was dreaming again. He walked as if in trance, moved by some higher power, mightier than himself. Foot for foot, deeper into the Room of Hidden Things. At once, he felt the urge to search for something, like George had in his dream. The more rational part of his brain noticed the déja-vu, but the expected warning stayed away. He found it all rather fascinating, funny. He wanted to search for something small, something crucial. Perhaps, he thought, it was George he was looking for.

Unlike in his dream, almost immediately that what he was looking for caught his eye with a glimmer, laying open for anyone to see, in the middle on a path between the ashes. Of course it would, as it was the Room of Requirements he was in. When you wished for something it would appear. That it hadn't in his dream, was because that was all it was: a dream.

He moved towards it. _It_. It was indeed small, nothing more but a mere pebble. Its surface was cold, black and smooth as Fred picked it up and stroke it with his thumb. At closer inspection, it didn't seem that extraordinary, until he saw the sign etched on the other side. A triangle, a circle and a line through the middle, it was clearly meant to mean something, but it meant nothing to Fred.

He studied the object a while longer, wondering why it could've been important to his brother. He listened to it, sniffed at it, weighed it in his hand, laid it on his tongue, flipped it a few times, and then, a sudden movement caught his eye. His head shot up, half expecting to wake up in his dormitory, but what he saw, was more astounding than anything he could've thought up. In fact, it was _exactly _what he'd been thinking of the last few weeks. There, just a few feet away, staring straight back, stood George Weasley, looking just as shocked as Fred imagined himself to be.

For an undefined length of time, they just held each other's eye. George didn't look too well, a bit like Lupin used to after a moon-lit night, pale and dishevelled, but that didn't matter a thing to Fred. His eyes teared up, and he reached out for his brother, wanting to touch his skin, feel his heart beating.

George stepped back.

"You are not real." He whispered to him, harshly, his voice hoarse, wary, as if he were afraid that any moment Fred would go up in smoke, and disappear. Fred didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, so he did a bit of both. "But I am, George. I'm real. I'm really here. In the Room of Requirements."

George still looked unsure to believe his words, unsure to hope they may be true. "Try." Fred said, "Try touch me. Please."

George tentatively rose his arm, while Fred did the same. Their finger moved to each other, identical, their movements simultaneous, as if both hands belonged to the same person. Fred wanted to hold George's hand, tell him everything was alright, but then, as skin should stroke skin, they felt nothing. Fred's hand passed right through George's as if through thin air.

The tears now escaped Fred's eyes. It wasn't real, how could it be, what had he been thinking!? The Room made that appear what you needed, but it could not summon _people_. Yes, it could create training dummies, but it couldn't cross time, it couldn't revive the dead. No magic could do those things. The only thing it could, was to create an illusion of the real George. As was this whole room, an illusion stemming from his own wishes, his own imagination. His twin was none but an appearance.

Their eyes locked, and Fred saw George was crying too, doubtlessly think the same. He attempted to comfort him, but in his brother's eyes he found nothing but hurt and betrayal. Betrayal that he wasn't really there. George winked his tears away angrily, and moved to storm away.

"George, wait! Please, don't go!" Fred found himself pleading to his twin, even as he was nothing but an illusion. He just wanted to take this moment for what it was.

George stopped, his back turned to Fred. "We can't touch, but I'm really here, I swear! I want to see you, George. Don't waste this moment, even if it is all nothing but a hallucination. We can still talk. Like we used to."

George glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening in face of his brother's sincerity. Fred couldn't keep secrets from George. And if anyone could say if it was really Fred, it was him.

"Fred, who are you talking to?" a voice from behind said, startling him, pulling him back out of their bubble. His fist clenched around the cold, round stone as George disappeared, empty space taking his place as if he'd never been there. He hadn't, not in reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, winking unshed tears away. Behind him stood Snape and Lily, probably come through the door, which apparently hadn't properly disappeared when he'd gone through. They both were much older, Snape looked almost as he used to in his time, including black, bellowing robes, and Lily had become a matured woman, older than she would ever be destined to grow. She looked like Harry's mum.

Before he had time to wonder what exactly was happening, their surroundings distorted, morphed so suddenly he almost fell over. Ashes were replaced by trees, the ceiling by a night black sky, and as he whirled back, he found George had been replaced by Harry. Looking at them with calm, but warm eyes, as if them being there was the most normal thing in the world.

"Of course," he said, a slight sad smile playing around his mouth "it would be you three."

Fred didn't understand. That George would be reproduced, could've been expected, he longed to nothing more than to see his twin again, but why would the Room change into the Forbidden Forest, why would it come up with its version of _Harry_? Of course, he cared for the boy, but hadn't by any measure preoccupied his mind as had George. He certainly hadn't called up him, when creating the room, had he?

"Who are you!?" he heard Snape snap. Glancing back, Fred saw the ex-Professor-to-be had drawn his wand, seeming not quite as cold and collected as he usually was. With a start, Fred realized that even though Snape and Lily _looked _like they had – or would have – in his time, they actually still were the little third years who'd unsuspectingly followed the troubled time-travel who had _called _himself Fred. If either of them knew about Harry, the future would be doomed to change. Lily _wasn't _supposed to know she'd have a child with Potter.

Harry seemed puzzled at Snape's reaction. "You know who I am, I'm Harry Potter! What has happened, don't you remember me?"

They both gaped at this weird, unfamiliar boy, who seemed to know them even though they had never seen him before. Lily's eyes darted cautiously to Fred.

"Have we somehow landed… in your memories?" she asked slowly.

Harry frowned, "What?"

"No!" Fred cried out. He was inwardly panicking; they could _not _know, they could _not _know, they could _not _know…

"What's the matter with all of you?" Harry queried, "You're all dead, you're only temporally back on earth because I'm holding the Resurrection Stone. Last time, you knew what was going on."

"Harry." Fred turned to face Harry again, "I don't know what you're on about, I don't even know if it's really you, but we're not dead, we're not here, we're in the past, _your _past, we're in the Room of Requirements. I don't know either what all of this means, but _they_," he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, "are their fourteen-year-old selves at the moment, and should _not know _of your existence."

Harry shook his head unbelievingly. "You can't be. I've just summoned you because George has been looking for the Stone, and I need your advice, Fred, 'cause the Stone can't fall into his hands –"

"Wait." Fred interrupted him distractedly, "George has been looking for the Stone? In the _Room of Requirements_?"

"I couldn't tell him it was here, Fred. He would try to revive you –"

"_So you lied to him!? You let him rake that damned room for some stupid, unfindable stone, that isn't even there!?_" he swallowed a sob, giving Harry his most hateful glare, "You would withhold me from him." he accused, "I'm his _brother_."

Harry felt he was losing ground. "Fred," he pleaded, before he eye fell onto the small, black pebble in Fred's hand, identical to that in his own. "What is that?" he asked warily.

Fred looked at the object too, and paled. Was that… the _Resurrection Stone_!?

"Where did you find it!?" Harry exclaimed, panicking.

"In the Room of Requirement." he answered quietly. "I saw the place in a dream, George was looking for it, I thought about it and… it appeared." He looked at Harry. "I think I… resurrected George. I saw him, he saw me."

"But George isn't dead, you are, and…" Harry was still transfixed by the Stone in Fred's hand, "How can you possess the Resurrection Stone if you're dead!?"

Fred threw it away as hard and far as he could, turned, grabbed Snape and Lily at the elbows and ran, ran from that mad place, that mad situation, but just not hard enough to miss Harry whispering, "George."

He somehow found the door, burst through it with his two companions and closed it with a bang.

He closed his eyes, for a moment not daring to look at anything, anyone, just breathing in, breathing out. When he opened them again with a sigh, he found both Lily and Snape watching him with fear and intrigue. Both looking fourteen, thank Merlin.

"What was that?" Lily breathed.

"I don't know." he mumbled his response, "I swear, I have no idea. That room is the Room of Requirement, it's supposed to just provide the kind of space the user is in need of. Like, it's a loo when you badly need to pee, provides a bed when you're looking for a place to sleep, that kind of thing. It isn't supposed to…"

Lily and Snape were staring at him distrustfully. "Really, I've no idea what that was," he exclaimed in defence, "That was the maddest thing I've ever experienced _in my life_, and _I _can say that, _I'm _a time-traveller."

Lily conceded. "We believe you. But…" she eyed him curiously, "who is George?"

"You didn't see him?" Fred was surprised, "I talked to him before you two entered the scene."

"We saw no one." Snape stated.

"Oh." was Fred's intelligent response. So they still didn't know George was his twin. They didn't need to know that, though, especially Snape, he didn't need to know that. "George is my brother."

Severus rose an eyebrow sardonically. "Wouldn't expect he's your sister."

"No." Fred agreed bitingly. He stood up, and straightened his robes, his school robes. "Well, shall we try again?" he asked with a fake air of cheerfulness. He forced a cheeky smile, before pacing again, three times, Snape and Lily watching intently.

He tensed a second before opening the door, but when he peeked inside there was only the dim classroom he'd depicted. He didn't know whether to feel relief or disappointment.

That day, they worked there in secret, learning Occlumency and Legimency, as they would many afternoons after, coming back to do the same. Never again they talked about George, or Harry, as all of them understood they shouldn't dwell on it, they should tempt fate.

Never again appeared the room of Fred's dream.


End file.
